"Minister, you indeed didn't speak a word of English," Sherlock said calmly, looking at Bulgarian Minister Oblansk, his voice low and slow.
"But in most cases, human reactions are more honest than language. When Minister Fudge introduced you to Harry Potter—the boy who survived You-Know-Who—your gaze immediately locked onto Harry's scar at the first moment."
Sherlock paused, glancing at the shocked crowd in the box.
Hearing this, everyone immediately understood.
Of course!
If Oblansk truly didn't understand what Cornelius Fudge was saying, he definitely wouldn't have reacted that way.
Hermione gazed intently at Sherlock, her face showing familiar intellectual curiosity mixed with an admiring blush.
Sherlock's analysis continued.
"This wasn't just curiosity, but a reaction of recognition. Also, your finger pointing at the scar was full of enthusiasm, without any signs of seeking help or confusion. This shows you completely understood Fudge's description. Someone who truly doesn't understand English would never show that kind of instant excitement in that moment.
Furthermore, before that, when Minister Fudge struggled with gestures, your expression maintained a playful calm throughout. Your eyes didn't wander, your gestures weren't stiff. You were like an observer watching his efforts, whereas a real language barrier would bring continuous anxiety and confusion.
These details combined were enough for me to deduce you were just enjoying a little prank."
Sherlock's analysis ended, and Oblansk couldn't help bursting into hearty laughter.
That London accent was contrasting strongly with the Bulgarian disguise.
"Marvelous, simply marvelous!"
He clapped Sherlock heavily on the shoulder, completely unconcerned with Fudge's angry expression.
"That's right, I was just messing with him. Think about it—a major country's Minister of Magic waving his arms around like a mime all day—that alone was worth the price of admission!
Holmes... no, Sherlock, you should work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Barty Crouch needs someone like you."
Fudge's face grew redder. He turned away huffily, muttering about how rude it all was.
But Sherlock sighed.
How to put it?
In the Muggle world, when two national leaders formally communicate, they don't actually need to understand each other's language.
Or rather, it has nothing to do with whether they understand each other's language.
A person once said. Even if two national leaders can understand each other's language, they should express their meaning in their own language and convey it through translation.
But today... not only does the British Ministry of Magic not have translators, neither does the Bulgarian Ministry.
One could only say that not just the British magical community, but the entire magical world is... full of talent!
Just then, several more people entered the box, saving Cornelius Fudge from his embarrassment.
"Ah, Lucius is here!" His tone was full of delight, as if encountering an old friend he hadn't seen in years.
Sherlock raised an eyebrow and followed Fudge's gaze. Sure enough, it was the Malfoy family.
Three seats in the second row behind Mr. Weasley had remained empty—apparently reserved for them.
Sherlock had already met both Lucius Malfoy and Draco Malfoy, father and son. They looked much the same as the last time he'd seen them.
But he was seeing the other member of the Malfoy family for the first time—Lucius's wife and Draco's mother, Narcissa Malfoy.
She was a woman with fair skin. Her light blonde hair made her look more like Lucius's sister than his wife.
However, her appearance did inherit the Black family's advantages—tall and very beautiful.
But the problem was that at this moment her face carried a disgruntled expression, as if she'd smelled something foul.
"Ah, Minister Fudge, hello!" Lucius extended his hand to Cornelius Fudge as he passed, then introduced his family.
"I don't think you've met my wife Narcissa, and our son Draco."
"Hello, hello!" Fudge smiled and bowed to Mrs. Malfoy.
"Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Oberansk—oh, it should be Oblansk—I've been getting his name wrong. He's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, who was just pretending not to understand English and making a fool of me."
Fudge had figured it out by now. As long as I'm not embarrassed, others will be. So, he simply brought up the matter.
Sure enough, Bulgarian Minister Oblansk was first stunned upon hearing Fudge's words, then became embarrassed.
"Hey, Minister, I was just joking. No need to take it so seriously!"
"I'm not taking it seriously. I'm just mentioning it casually." Seeing Oblansk's embarrassment, Fudge felt immensely satisfied.
To ease the awkwardness, Oblansk quickly took Narcissa Malfoy's hand and ceremoniously kissed it.
"Beautiful lady, pleased to meet you. I hope you'll support Bulgaria."
"Pleased to meet you, Minister." In terms of etiquette, Narcissa Malfoy's performance was impeccable.
This made Lucius Malfoy unconsciously puff out his chest, proud to have such a wife who could hold up appearances.
Sherlock took in this scene, immediately forming a preliminary judgment about this family's relationships.
"Now, let's see who else we have," Fudge said again.
"Lucius, I think you must know Mr. Sirius Black. He cooperated with us to catch that traitor who once provided information to You-Know-Who!"
Hearing this, Lucius's expression immediately became somewhat uncomfortable.
Narcissa Malfoy seemed to sense her husband's mood. She gently patted his arm, then stepped forward half a pace, looking at Sirius.
"It's been a while, Sirius."
"It's been a while, my dear cousin," Sirius said calmly, with no emotional fluctuation in his voice.
Narcissa Malfoy, or Narcissa Black, was both Sirius's cousin on his mother's side and his cousin on his father's side.
Compared to another woman who shared this relationship with him—Bellatrix—Narcissa had married even earlier.
Additionally, since she wasn't a Death Eater herself like Bellatrix, Sirius's attitude toward her was merely that toward a relative he hadn't seen much.
After introducing Sirius Black, Fudge pointed at Mr. Weasley and said to Lucius.
"This is Arthur Weasley. I think you know him too. His children also attend Hogwarts!"
As soon as these words left his mouth, the atmosphere in the box immediately became delicate—even more tense than when introducing Sirius.
Except for Sherlock, those who knew the situation looked at Fudge helplessly, thinking he really had a talent for saying the wrong thing.
Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy looked at each other without speaking.
Sherlock hadn't witnessed it personally, but Harry clearly remembered the scene when these two last met. it was in Flourish and Blotts, and they had fought.
During that confrontation, Mr. Malfoy had taken the opportunity to slip Voldemort's diary into Gilderoy Lockhart's pile of books.
Later, that diary was brought into Hogwarts by Lockhart, and needless to say, caused a huge commotion at the school.
Of course, everyone now knew that thing was a Horcrux.
Lucius wasn't as polite facing Mr. Weasley as he had been with Sirius. His cold gray eyes passed over Mr. Weasley, scanning back and forth across the row of seats.
"Good heavens, Arthur," he said softly. "What exactly did you sell to get seats in this top box? I don't think your possessions are worth that much, are they?"
Even without that previous incident, the Malfoy family had always been at odds with the Weasleys.
After all, in the eyes of most pure-blood families, the Weasley family's various behaviors could be called "the shame of pure-bloods."
Unfortunately, Fudge didn't grasp what Lucius was saying and enthusiastically continued.
"Arthur, Lucius just donated a very generous sum to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries—he's my honored guest."
"Oh—that's wonderful," Mr. Weasley said with a forced smile.
Mr. Malfoy's gaze then swept over Sherlock and Hermione, and his brow immediately furrowed.
Hermione's face flushed slightly as she moved closer to Sherlock's direction, but met his gaze without backing down.
The Malfoy family had always been proud of being pure-blood wizards, and Narcissa from the Black family was no different.
After marrying Lucius, this attitude had only grown stronger.
Half-blood wizards were one thing, but Muggle-born wizards like Sherlock and Hermione were considered inferior in their eyes.
However, with the Minister of Magic present, Mr. Malfoy ultimately didn't say anything inappropriate.
He just nodded mockingly at Mr. Weasley and continued toward his seat.
Narcissa nodded at Sirius and also sat down. Draco sat properly between his parents.
"That's strange—this annoying guy didn't provoke anyone?" Ron couldn't help muttering.
"He hasn't provoked anyone in a long time," Sherlock said meaningfully.
From his recent observation of the Malfoy family of three, he had already discerned many things.
Just then, Ludo Bagman burst into the box like a gust of wind.
"Is everyone ready?" His round face shone like a giant ball of cheese as he looked at Fudge and asked urgently.
"Minister—can we start?"
"Start whenever you're ready, Ludo." Fudge seemed very amiable when dealing with Ludo.
Hearing Fudge say this, Ludo immediately pulled out his wand and first cast a Sonorus Charm on himself, then began fulfilling his duty as commentator for the match.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome! Welcome to the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!"
After casting the spell, Mr. Bagman's voice thundered through the packed stadium.
The sound echoed over everyone's heads, reaching loudly to every corner of the stands.
As soon as he finished speaking, the audience erupted in cheers and applause.
Thousands of flags waved simultaneously, accompanied by a cacophony of national anthems. The scene was truly lively.
On the scoreboard directly opposite Sherlock, the last line of advertising was wiped away.
Now it displayed. BULGARIA. IRELAND—0.0
Clearly, the sponsors' advertising time had ended, and they had entered the tense and exciting match time.
However, according to Hermione's reading of the program, before the match officially began, there would be performances by both teams' mascots.
"I'm your commentator, Ludo Bagman—but enough chatter, allow me to introduce... the Bulgarian national team's mascot!"
The right side of the stands was a neat scarlet formation that now erupted in loud cheers.
"Wonder what they've brought," Mr. Weasley said eagerly, leaning forward from his seat like an excited child.
The next moment, he suddenly removed his glasses and hastily wiped them on his robes, while letting out an incredulous exclamation.
"Good heavens, it's Veela!"
"What are Vee—"
Before he could finish, a hundred Veela had already glided onto the field.
Harry's question was answered in that moment.
Veela were women—to be precise, the most beautiful women Harry had ever seen in his life.
This description wasn't an exaggeration at all. They were beautiful to the point of not seeming real.
This puzzled Harry for a moment, unable to figure out exactly what they were.
Why did their skin glow with a moonlight radiance? Why did their hair float behind them even without wind? Why were they so... beautiful?
In this moment, Harry even felt somewhat ashamed, because right now he thought even Cho Chang wasn't as beautiful as these Veela.
Just then, music began playing, and Harry stopped wondering if they were real people—in fact, he couldn't think about anything at all.
As the Veela began to dance, Harry's mind went blank, feeling only intense pleasure.
Nothing else in the world mattered.
As long as he could keep watching the Veela, that was enough.
If they stopped dancing, something terrible would happen.
As the Veela's dance grew faster, some crazy, shapeless thoughts began spinning in Harry's dizzy mind.
Keep going... don't stop...
Faster... even faster...
Almost there... almost...
At this moment, Harry suddenly wanted to do something spectacular—right now.
That was to jump from the box into the stadium.
He didn't even think about why he wanted to do this, just vaguely wondering if this would be spectacular enough.
"My dear friend, what are you doing?"
Finally, from somewhere far away came Sherlock's familiar voice.
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